Who Killed the Mob's Accountant?, page 1
Who Killed the Mob’s Accountant?
Donald Richter
Austin Macauley Publishers
Who Killed the Mob’s Accountant?
About the Author
About the Book
Dedication
Copyright Information
Chapter OneTo the Morgue
Chapter TwoTo the Brownburg Mansion
Chapter ThreeMaking His Report
Chapter FourThe Death of Paul’s Brother
Chapter FiveMeeting Tony Bruno
Chapter SixChanging Brenda
Chapter SevenThe Interviews
Chapter EightMeeting the Don
Chapter NineThe Trial
Chapter TenTo the Island
Chapter ElevenBack to Chicago
About the Author
The author works in a factory making fire extinguishers, and wakes up early and writes to keep quiet, while his wife sleeps. One day, he would like to write for a living, he is trying the murder mysteries’ genre. He hopes you like his work, his next book is based in Seattle.
About the Book
Organized crime still lives in Chicago. Did the love of one mob boss kill his whole family? How did the FBI get involved, who is killing them off, why did the two major families unite? Is it brother against brother? Did one murder lead to everyone dying? Sometimes things don’t go to plan. Find out how one’s world could go down the toilet when you’re working with people who don’t know your plan.
Dedication
To my mother, she always liked a good murder mystery.
Copyright Information
Copyright © Donald Richter (2019)
The right of Donald Richter to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528907255 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528907262 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781528958516 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
A man walked into his boss’s office. It was a small office, hardly anything on the walls, an older man sitting behind an old-fashioned oak desk and one chair in front of it. He greeted him, “Thomas, you sent for me.”
The older man said, “Mike Wilson, come in, I have a quick job for you.”
Mike answered, “Now, Tom, you know I am done working, getting ready for retirement, I figure forty-five is a good age.”
The older man stood and motioned towards the chair, as he said, “This should take just a few hours, have you heard about the C.P.A. that was shot yesterday in Oak Park?”
Mike asked him as he looked around, “How long have you been in this hole, you know a coat of paint, some furniture, maybe some art. Oh well, let me see, a certified public account shot yesterday? No, not really, was he famous, or something?”
Thomas said, “He was my C.P.A. I would like to get my file from him and make sure his files are sealed, or destroyed. He had many powerful clients, this envelope has your badge, new identification and a few grand as walking-around money; I want this done today.”
Mike opened the manila envelope, took out the police report, studied it and said, “It was just a random shooting, wrong place at the wrong time.”
Thomas said, “Oh, I highly doubt that, he never left the downtown area.”
Mike dumped out a badge and iPhone onto the desk; he picked up the badge and studied it and asked, “So do you want me to solve this murder, or just clean it up?”
Thomas said, “Just clean it up, if you can steer the cops toward the murderer that would be great. Can you get it done today?”
Mike held up a badge and said, “I can’t remember the last time I was Irish, my name is Mark Neal, must have dropped the O, special homicide agent that should open a few doors, and this shouldn’t take long. I hope his wife doesn’t want a search warrant.”
Thomas nodded to the envelope and said, “Judge Brown would like his file also and grab Mayor Smiths, I want that one.”
Mike said, “OK, will keep in touch, this shouldn’t take long.” He lifted the phone looked into the contacts and said, “At least they put his number in the phone’s contacts.” He then Googled the city morgue, punched in the number, called, and said, “Yes, this is special agent Mark Neal, you have a Scott Brownburg there? I am en route, he is not to be moved until I get there.” Mike stood and looked down at his boss and said, “I am doing this as a favor. I am done, you got that.”
Thomas stood and held out his hand, as they shook hands he said, “Fine, this one is off the books.”
Chapter One
To the Morgue
Mike turned and left the office, went to the elevator, dropped five stories, nodded to the receptionist, stepped out onto the street and hailed a cab. He went to the Palmer House Hotel and quickly packed, then went to the Congress Hotel and checked in under the name Mark Neal. He paid the extra for a room with a view, and once up there, he was impressed by a great view, overlooking the Buckingham fountain and Lake Michigan; you could see the Navy Pier on one side and the other way you could see the aquarium, museum, and the planetarium. He picked up the phone and called downstairs to the bar and ordered, “I want a vodka martini, top shelf, will be down there in five minutes.” He hung up the phone and said to himself, “Nice to have a drink before you go to the morgue.”
He headed down to the bar, took the drink from the bartender and lifted out the olive and sucked the whole martini in one gulp, ate the olive, and headed out the door, stood in line at the taxi stand; he got in a taxi the first stop was to a car rental place. Mark rented a car, put it on the card that Thomas gave to him then he programmed the G.P.S. and headed right to the city morgue, a half hour later he pulled in and parked. He walked in, and flashed his badge to the receptionist, and said with authority, “Mark Neal, special agent, here to examine a Scott Brownburg.”
She smiled and said, “What you want to do is go down this hall to another desk, they will take you into the morgue and show the body.”
Mark thanked her and started down the hall. He looked over his shoulder and saw the receptionist watching his ass as he walked. It was a good fifty yards, a desk was right in the middle of the hallway; it was like an intersection. Mark walked up and flashed his new badge again and said, “I am here to see Scott Brownburg, he is in the morgue.”
A young man said, “If you would take a seat, I will call someone and they will take you in there.”
Soon, an older man walked down the hall and asked, “OK, who wants to go to the morgue.” Mark stood and walked over to him. The man in the lab coat said, “OK, this is the deal: on the way out keep taking lefts it will bring you right back here. This place is a maze, if you look on the floor you will see a blue line, follow it. Now, there are a lot of corpses, you are here to see Brownburg, that is the one you look for, got it? I have work to do, so when you are done, just leave.”
They went through a door, then through a stainless steel door and the temperature dropped; the guy in the lab coat said, “We keep it at thirty-six degrees, so don’t screw around.” As they walked through the room, they passed by a large muscular man standing with tears in his eyes, holding a corpse’s hand. The man in the lab coat opened a nearby vault door and pulled out a body that was under a sheet. He said, “When you are done, push him back in.” He turned and left. Mark stepped up and pulled the sheet right down to his feet, the body had a bullet hole in his head and both shoulders, both knees, and his foot.
The large man said, “Small caliber, somebody was questioning him.”
Mark said, “Yeah, it was not a clean kill. If you look at the blood clots, these shots were done over some time.”
Then the man said excitedly, “What the hell! Is that Scott Brownburg, the C.P.A.?”
Mark looked up at him and asked, “You knew him.”
The big man said, “Yeah, he worked for my boss, here.” He motioned to the body on the tray with two huge holes in his chest.
Mark said, “Whoa, shot in the back at point blank range, by the way, I am special agent, Mark Neal.” He held out his hand. The man took his hand, swallowing it.
This was a big man, he lowered his head and looked him straight in the eye and said, “Frank, this is Paul Sandstone, one hell of a guy.”
Mark asked, “So do you know who shot your boss?”
Frank said, “The only ones I could think of are the Brunos, but everything has been running smoothly, they even sent flowers and condolences.”
Mark said, “So, when did he die?”
Frank said, “Two days ago, when did Scotty die?”
Mark said, “Yesterday, hey, do me a favor, big fella, don’t tell anyone about this, just keep your eyes open at work, I will give you a card where you can reach me, look at that, it even has my cell number on it.” Mark handed him a card.
Frank had his wallet out and was looking through the cards, he pulled one out and said, “Ask for me, don’t leave a message.”
Mark looked at the card and read out loud, “Flowers by Frank?”
Frank said sharply, “Yeah, what’s it to you.” Mark rolled his eyes and started to look at Scott’s body, picked up his hand, looked at each of his fingers, did the same with the other one. He then rolled him onto his side and took a really good look at him.
Frank leaned down and kissed Paul on the head and said, “I will find out who did this to you, Pauly. That bastard!”
Mark turned and asked, “Could I look at the entrance wound?”
Frank said, “I will roll him to his side.” He took him by the shoulder and butt and rolled him, he was as stiff as a board.
Mark bent down and said, “Oh yeah, that was point blank, damn near touched him with the barrel, he was using a hollow point, a large caliber, probably a forty, with a wad cutter, it was really close if it was a larger caliber it wouldn’t expanded as well that close, did they find the bullet, it was someone he knew.”
Frank asked, “Why would you say that? And they never said if they found a bullet.”
Mark smiled, “Well, he did get really close to him, was he robbed?”
Frank said, “They just took his wallet, the cops said it was a random shooting, hell, I can’t believe Scotty is dead; he was such a good guy.”
Mark asked, “They said Scotty here was a random shooting, did Paul have family?”
Frank said, “Wow, random my ass! That took a while, I wonder if he cracked. Paul was a pretty smart guy, I’m sure Scotty didn’t know all his secrets. He has a wife, a brother and a couple of nephews, that is it.” Mark covered the body then pushed the tray into the wall and closed the door.
He stepped over to Frank and asked, “Hey, I think these two are connected, can I talk with Paul’s wife and brother.”
Frank said, “That should be just fine, when?”
Mark said, “Tomorrow morning, I will call first, don’t tell them I am working on Brownburg, just tell them I am clearing some paperwork with this Paul.”
Frank said, “Fine but you find out who did this you tell me first, got that?”
Mark said, “OK, do you know what you are doing?”
Frank said, “Just keep me informed.”
Mark got out of the morgue and started back. He looked down at the line on the floor, it was brown. He said, “Ah shit.” He turned around and followed it back to where it turned blue, then followed it back to the desk. He said, “Alright, I want a copy of Scott Brownburg’s file and one of Paul Sandstone’s.” He pulled out his badge handed it to the woman with a hundred dollar bill, “And I would like it quickly, please.”
She took the hundred and said, “Just give me one minute.” She sat down in front of the computer and the printer started to kick out pages. She picked up a few pages, leaned over and clicked on print and more pages started to come out. She stapled the first one and handed it to him. He opened it, there were a couple of forms, one showing the human body and the bullet holes were drawn in and measurements of the holes, then the second, third and fourth were descriptions of Scott; what he was wearing, what shape the body was in, the contents of his pockets. The woman asked, “Can I do anything else for you?”
He raised the paperwork and said, “This is just the Coroner’s report; I guess I will have to go to the station for the police report.” He walked down the hall to the parking ramp and got into the car and drove to the hotel. He dropped off the car at the valet then stepped over to the restaurant got a table right next to the sidewalk. He sat there in front of the building, taking in the sun and looking at the Coroner’s reports and watching people walk by. He had a burger and fries and a glass of Pinot Noir.
He pulled out his cell phone and his wallet and punched in Frank’s number and asked, “Hey, Frank, Mark Neal here, is it possible I could come over tonight and talk with the widow? And don’t mind me asking, but how much was that Rolex worth that Paul was wearing, and I see, he was wearing a ring and had seven hundred and thirty-two dollars in a money clip.”
Frank said, “You have got to be kidding me, the cops just said someone took his wallet. That was in the Coroner’s report, right? Can I see that?”
Mark said, “Sure I will bring it with me; I will call you in a few hours.”
Chapter Two
To the Brownburg Mansion
Mark got up, charged the bill to his room and went to the valet for his car, he put in the address for Brownburg’s mansion, it wasn’t too far, just up the lake shore a couple of miles, past the big marina’s it turned into large houses. He turned into a driveway and talked into a speaker, “This is special agent, Mark Neal, I am investigating Scott Brownburg’s death.” The gate swung open, he drove up around a huge fountain, up to the mansion it was more like a small castle. The butler came out and opened his door before he even shut the car off.
The butler said, “If you would follow me, please?” Mark got out and followed him into the house; as soon as he stepped through the door, the room just opened up; the staircase was marble – it was huge, wrapped around to the second floor, then to the third and fourth floor. The floor was marble, it shined like water and the lights from the chandlers reflected off of it. The butler said, “I will setup tea in the study, if you would follow me, please?” Mark walked through the house, taking in the fine furnishings and paintings; they stepped into the study, the bookcases went right to the ceiling, there was a ladder hanging on a track. He sat at an antique table with eight chairs next to it. As soon as the butler walked out of the room, Mark started to look around the room.
A woman stepped in and introduced herself. “Hello, I am Jaclyn, Scott’s wife; I heard it was a random shooting, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Mark said, “Some things just don’t add up, and my boss is getting some heat from above, your husband had a lot of high-profile clients, would you care if I looked around?”
Jaclyn said, “Well, you should have a search warrant, as you say he has a lot of clients that don’t want their financial doings public.”
Mark said, “Yes, madam, I am investigating his death, I don’t care about anything else, I will be discreet, and I do have a warrant.” He sat his briefcase on the desk and took out the warrant and handed it to her.
Jaclyn said, “Sit, we will get to know one another as we have tea.”
Mark said, “OK, fifteen to twenty minutes, I am in a bit of a hurry. Is this his study?”
Jaclyn said with a smile, “Oh, no, this is just for show, I do some reading in here and Scott met clients here, but never worked here.” The butler came in with the tea; he pushed in a cart, and set out a silver tea set and a silver platter with some small wafers on it.
He then filled the cups and said, “This was unexpected, will this do?”
Jaclyn said, “Oh, this is fine, thank you.”
Mark lifted his cup and said, “This is very nice, so was your husband acting strange lately?”
She cocked her head and said, “No, he wasn’t, and no, I have no idea what he was doing in Oak Park.”
Mark said, “I have read the police report, I will try not to ask the same questions, I am sure you are grief-stricken, and there are a million things to do but did he have a plan for his funeral?”
She picked up a wafer and started to eat, looking right at the table, “Yes, he did, and all I have to do is to follow it.” Tears started to stream down her face.
Mark said, as he slid a piece of paper across the table, “Would you show me where your husband did his work and I will get out of here, you have a lot to do.”
The butler showed up handing her a linen napkin and asked, “Shall I take Mister Marcus to Master Scott’s study?”
She dabbed her tears and said, “Yes, that would be nice.” Mark got up and followed the butler down the hall up a staircase to a room with ceiling to floor windows, overlooking the backyard.
